


The City of Ghosts

by Fan4always



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Eventual Johnlock, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Plot, Poor John, Post-His Last Vow, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan4always/pseuds/Fan4always
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That is not possible. That is simply not possible.” Mycroft spoke agitated, while getting out of his car.</p><p>Taking a step closer to the taller man he asked, “What’s happened?”</p><p>I'm picking up right where His Last Vow ended.  Sherlock steps off the plane and into a twisting adventure with John at his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Momentarily Exiled

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done this before so any suggestions would be good. I tried my best at trying to make everything sound Britishy, but I'm from the mid-west in the USofA. It hasn't been edited by anyone but myself... so yeah. This story has been buzzing around in my head for awhile, so I decided to get it out... even though I'm not entirely sure where it's going. Mark Gatniss helped inspire the title. When someone asked him to describe season 4 in one word he replied, "Ghosts." So yep, hope someone will enjoy it anyways ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

This was the second time John Watson thought he had lost Sherlock forever, however that did not make the loss any easier. He supposed now he had Mary, wonderful, beautiful, _lying_ , Mary. Who would, if not stop him from breaking into pieces, perhaps do her best putting him back together. He stood looking into the sky, long after the plane disappeared. He didn't know Sherlock did the same, looking out the airplane window, eyes fixed to the ground below. Both men still felt a sensation in their right hand, from their final farewell.

John knew this was wrong. Sherlock Holmes, the best and bravest man he had ever known, gone. He would never be able to forgive himself. He is the one that should have shot the terrible shark that was Magnussen. It was his wife and child that needed protection, they were all safe now. Safe from Mary’s dark past. Sherlock had thrown away everything for John. The Work and possibly his life he thought now with a horrible itching suspicion that now wrecked his mind. This was definitely worse than before. Never knowing. Before there had been no doubt he was dead and wouldn't return. John had found Mary and continued on with his life. But now he would always be looking over his shoulder. Tall dark haired men in long coats would make him give a second glance, for he would never stop hoping Sherlock would find his way back to him. He had come back from the dead once hadn't he?

Mary stood somewhere behind him. She didn't touch him, nor did she speak comforting words to him. She would let him grieve, then expect him to start moving forward. Mary was exactly what he needed, in a world without Sherlock Holmes.

“That is not possible. That is simply not possible.” Mycroft spoke agitated, while getting out of the black car.

Taking a step closer to the taller man John asked, “What’s happened?”

* * *

A moment later, John still frozen in place, Sherlock stepped out of the airplane. Their eyes locked and John was sure Sherlock would feel the waves of relief rolling off him. Sherlock wasn't going to go where he couldn't follow. John wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go. He wanted to give him the hug he should have given him when he thought the game was over. Instead he grabbed Mary’s hand. Sherlock’s face was composed as he approached and turned his attention to Mycroft. “How?”

“This is not Moriarty’s doing. He shot himself in the head, he is gone. It's likely someone who knew him prior to his death is using his identity for their own gain. We never did catch all of his confidants or the henchmen that stole his body.”

“Why now more than two years after his death? It is no simple feat to hijack all electronic screens in London. Definite risk of being caught...” said Sherlock his voice trailing off.

“What would motivate someone to do that?” said Mary, who smiled at Sherlock and gave his arm a squeeze.

“What indeed.” spoke Sherlock his eyes focused on Mycroft.

“Which is why,” Mycroft said with a sigh, “we need you. Whoever has done this has purposefully spread mass terror throughout the entire country. It could not have been coincidence this occurred right as you were about to leave... permanently.”

“So,” said John, with a face, “whoever is doing this is messing around with Sherlock?”

Looking down his nose Mycroft replied, “That remains to be seen.”

With a swift glance at John, Sherlock turned abruptly. Getting into the back of the car he said, “Come along John the game is still on, you too Mary we have work to do.” Sherlock eyes gleamed as he said, “ To Baker Street.”

Sitting in between Sherlock and Mary, John used the silent car ride to think. Looking at his fingers intertwined with Mary’s, he thought of how Sherlock would be around when the baby was born. Sherlock was wonderful with children, this surprised some people but not John. Someday his little girl would be awed by the deductions, and the manic genius. John was mildly aware of where their legs made light contact. He thought to himself, the game is never over, and smiled. John had never been happier, in all his time with Sherlock, for another case. Despite the obvious danger this one could impose on them all, John was content between his two favorite people. Sherlock was back, close enough to touch. John looked up at Sherlock, to find pale eyes looking back. Sherlock smiled.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson flustered over them, bringing tea and biscuits. She hadn't seen Sherlock since Christmas and John had been unable to explain what had happened. She watched him with a pleased expression now, as he paced the room.

“I know you boys won’t tell me what you've been up too, but I’m glad you’re home.”

Mycroft’s assistant had dropped off a file of all known people who could be linked to Moriarty. A few he attached string to making a web of his own. Sherlock had managed to track down most of them during the two years John had lost Sherlock the first time. Everyone still alive was imprisoned, or had been labeled unimportant or not dangerous. Sherlock had immediately looked it over and started pinning photos and papers to the walls. John sat in his chair, researching different things Sherlock asked of him, such as a warehouse fire in Northern Ireland, a recently deceased wealthy woman in California, and a coal mine in Pennsylvania. “What do these things have to do with Moriarty?”

“Nothing or everything. I am missing something. Something that would connect them all. John, check you blog”

John did as requested and noted that someone had asked for help regarding the fire in Northern Ireland. "The arson in Ireland might be connected to a double homicide." he said, looking up from his laptop. "A Detective Inspector MacDonald has traveled to London from Belfast to request your help on the case."

"Reply to him. Tell him I will consider taking his case and to be here tomorrow at ten,” said Sherlock, continuing his persistent pacing, only coming to a halt to look at his phone, “Wait, perhaps an email won’t be necessary.”

"You think this is connected to whoever wants you to think Moriarty is alive?"

"It's possible, McDonald is dead. Lestrade has requested our appearance at the crime scene."

“Okay,” said John, sounding only a little hesitant as he checked his phone.

Grabbing his coat, "Don't worry about Mary, Mycroft has someone watching." said Sherlock.

John gave Sherlock an exasperated look "Of coarse he does."

"Wouldn't want her to get abducted, go into labor, that sort of thing."

"Abducted?" said John looking alarmed.

"Until we know who we're are dealing with, best be prepared."

John nodded and opened the door. Walking down the stairs sent a quick text to Mary, to let her know he could be at a crime scene the better part of the night. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later, John found himself at Regent’s Park, it was unsurprisingly dark and empty, for this time of early morning. The only activity was officers and the forensic team going about their business. Lestrade stood off to the side, his eyes were tired and he looked worn out, his face however was pale as if he had seen a ghost. It was apparent most of the people had been woken up to be there. There was also an uneasiness that hung in the air, which was usual for murder scenes, but it tonight the feeling was amplified. Many of the people  were taking quietly amongst themselves, "He must be alive," "Who else would want to cause such a stir," and it only increased when they spotted Sherlock and John walking toward the scene. Moriarty's broadcasted resurrection was still evident on their minds; and having the two sleuths appearing at their first crime scene in weeks so soon after couldn't be a coincidence.

"If we could stick to the case on hand, " said Lestrade loudly to his team, then more quietly to Sherlock, "This isn't connected to Moriarty right? If it is I need to know."

"If you let me examine your crime scene, maybe I could tell you."

"You are sure he's dead though, right? Who do you think would have broadcasted his face?"

Sighing Sherlock turned to the detective, "It's possible, somebody has been establishing old contacts of Moriarty's to build another criminal web. However it is but a shadow of what Moriarty had previously. They could be using his face for several reasons." 

“We found this note with your name and address on it, in his coat pocket,” said Lestrade. Sherlock didn't look up from where he was stooped over the body, so John took the note, now in a plastic evidence bag. The note read _Sherlock Holmes 221B Baker Street._ "Also the poor bloke was shot by a sniper... that was Moriarty's MO... wasn't it?"

Sherlock, still bent over the victim asked, “He died within the hour. How did you find him so quickly?”

“He called 999,” replied Lestrade. “The murderer couldn't have gotten far then,” said John getting a closer look at the body. The man was younger than John had expected, mid-late twenties, brown hair, about six foot, and very well dressed. John assumed he would have been attractive if it hadn't been for the bullet wound through his skull.

“Where is his phone?” said Sherlock looking around at the ground as if it would appear.

“We don’t know,” said Lestrade, didn't find it on him.”

“So the murder has it then?” said John handing the note back to Lestrade.

“Possibly,” said Sherlock, “but seemingly more and more unlikely…” Sherlock sprung like a spring and walked briskly to a small foot bridge, less than twenty feet away. “He was obviously dragged from where he was shot near the bridge, to the more discrete location where he is now near the bushes. The person who dragged him was male, average build."

“Why would he be moved if someone shot him with a sniper? They wouldn't have been close by..." said John following Sherlock, "So he dropped it in the water?”

“Not in the water, here,” pointing at the bank, he said. And there it was a phone and a hand gun on the muddy bank. “So, you can tell by the footprints the victim was standing on the bridge when he saw his someone approaching him. The victim then walked briskly to the other side and stopped by the bank under this tree, where the lights on the bridge wouldn't give away his position. We can assume this is where he called 999. This person easily found him, and disarmed him, but the victim wasn't shot right away. You can tell by the imprints, they were both uneasy and shifted there weight back and forth while talking. Someone wanted information. The sniper then shot him, then the accomplice dragged the body to it’s current location.” Sherlock put his magnifying glass away with a flourish and turned to John.

“Brilliant,” said John looking at Sherlock with an awed expression. Before John thought they the deductions had started becoming old hat, but almost losing them forever John saw them with renewed appreciation.

Sherlock grinned at John and clapped his hands together before turning to Lestrade. “Where is his backpack?”

“Sorry?” said Lestrade motioning for his team to make note of the new evidence.

Sherlock gave Lestrade a look that seemed to say,  _Don’t make me repeat myself_ and walked back towards the body. “You can see by the imprints on his coat, that he had been wearing a backpack, most of the day with the straps tighten high up on his shoulders.”

“We haven’t found a backpack,” said Lestrade.

“Honestly must I do everything for you?” said Sherlock exasperated. He started looking at the ground again, reading it like a book. He stopped at a spot near the bridge and made a knowing exclamation, “Ah ha! Come, John tell me what you see.”

John walked over to look at a spot that Sherlock was pointing too. A round bare on the spot on the ground about seven inches across, where no grass grew. “Well,” said John confused, “it appears that there was a rock or something sitting there for a while and has recently been moved.” He looked up at Sherlock, hoping he was being helpful instead of incredible dim.

“Exactly,” said Sherlock. He turned then quickly on his heel, fanning his coat out dramatically and said loudly, “I need an umbrella.” Then he quickly walked to the center of the bridge.

Sherlock was pacing again as Sally Donovan approached them with an umbrella, “I thought you must have died, this is the first crime scene you've barged into in weeks.”

“Oh Sergeant Donovan, I would have much more interesting things to do, than be here, if only you were competent at your job.” Sherlock grabbed the umbrella and turn away from her ending the conversation. He then walked to the railing and looked down at his feet as if to check if he was standing in the right spot. He produced a flashlight from his pocket, turned it on then held it with his mouth as he leaned over the railing with the umbrella. John thought he looked comical waving the umbrella around in the water, leaning further and further over the edge. He realized he must be fishing for something. John grabbed Sherlock’s waist when he feared he was leaning too far over and was just about to ask _what the bloody hell he was doing_ when he obviously hooked something with the umbrella. John let go of Sherlock as he pulled up the umbrella and a backpack. _The backpack_ , the victims backpack how did Sherlock manage that? Sherlock put the flashlight away and said with a grin, “Here, _dropped it in the water_ ” as he tossed the soaking backpack to Lestrade, who apparently had moved closer and had been watching them with a grin.

“You know I missed you Sherlock”

It was then they heard footsteps behind them. “Why hello, Detective Inspector,” said Mycroft and nodded, “Sherlock, John.” he acknowledged without even looking at them. “I’m afraid that backpack contains highly sensitive information and I will have to confiscate it from this investigation.”

“No, you can’t do that. This is a crime scene, that's evidence!” he said looking between Mycroft and the several men arriving in suits behind him.

“Greg, I’m sorry,” said Mycroft with a remorseful expression.

John looked back and forth between the two men with raised eyebrows. He had never heard Mycroft say sorry and he actually looked like he meant it. Lestrade handed over the backpack, to one of the men in a dark suit, with a bit of resentment coloring his face. “Everything that's not classified I expect to be returned as evidence.”

“Of course,” said Mycroft flipping his features back to a stoic more business like mask. “Sherlock,” Mycroft looking at his brother for the first time, “Do you mind if I have a word?”

“Go away Mycroft, you've disrupted the crime scene enough”

"I have information on a certain x-fiancé of yours, Janine."

* * *

The curtains had been shut, sealing the evening sun outside. The room was dark as a silhouette entered the room and hesitated, when noticing a familiar figure relaxing in a chair.

“Sherlock will track you down.”

“Of course, how could he resist?  This is turning out sooo very well.”

Stepping further into the darkness, eyes flashing, she asked "What do you want from me?"

"The usual." the voice replied, white teeth shining in the darkness, smiling like an adder.


	2. Suspects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to Regents Park or London, sooo the geography is pretty much just my imagination, with a bit of help from Google.

Mycroft, like everyone else was feeling rather rundown and could think of many places he would rather be than here in the darkened park next to a fountain. The past 12 hours had been non stop and he felt a little sullen as he watched his baby brother’s excitement surge. “Oh, oooh! How did I miss that! Of course! I knew she was hiding something, was more than she seemed, working as Magnussen’s PA, that _is_ a formidable position, but this, oh this is brilliant! Much more than I ever expected from her.” said Sherlock positively beaming.

“What?”

“Janine,” Sherlock said her name as if he had never heard it before. “She was Jim Moriarty’s _sister_!”

“Moriarty’s sister! How in God’s name did you not not deduce that, while you were together?”

“I had more important things to think about.”

“Ha,” chortled John with an amazed look, Sherlock’s giddiness rubbing off on him. “How exactly did she manage broadcasting his face over everyone's televisions and Piccadilly Circus?”

“She would have the connections in the news industry,” replied Sherlock, “to broadcast her brother all over the country.”

Mycroft clearing his throat. “She disappeared a week ago with a large amount of files that had been in Magnussen's possession that are consider classified.”

“Okay so where is she now?” asked John

Mycroft looking tired, shook his head, “We don’t know,” looking at Sherlock, “Finding her is more important than this case.  After I go through that, "motioning to the backpack,” I’ll send over what you need to know.”

"So how is this all connected?"

"Information. Magnessen was right about one thing knowledge is power." and with that Mycroft turned to leave.

“Thanks, for watching out for Mary” said John before he and Sherlock turned, back toward the road to hail a cab.

“Of course.”

“Wait. Where are you two going?” said Lestrade, walking briskly towards them.

“Baker Street.”

“But the case!”

"Boring."

"At least tell me what you got."

“The sniper could have easily shot his heart, did he? No, he blew his face off. They knew each other, it’s likely the killer had a grudge. By the angle of the wound you can tell the killer made the shot from from the North and that gun was lower, level with the ground, aimed up at him, it's likely the killer was laying in the grass nearby, you should have you people look for impressions.”

"That's it?"

“McDonald was hiding something too. He didn't have the funds to be dress like this on his pay check”

"Yeah, well we found a large amount of cash in his wallet, several thousand pounds."

Sherlock made a little humming sound, "Since your team can't be trusted to know what to look for... send the money over to Barts tomorrow, I'll take a look."

"Okay, good, now go on, I guess you can get some sleep."

* * *

As they opened the door inside and started the stairs, the two of them were feeling exceptionally tired, "I'm sorry John, I know how you would have preferred being with Mary today, right now, with the baby due-"

"No, what?" asked John stopping in his tracts.

"I'm apologizing."

"Sherlock Holmes apologizing! Wow  could you say it again so I can record it?" Sherlock tilted his head and opened his mouth to say something when John cut him off again. "You really are an idiot. Of all the things to apologize for, today is not one of them. I thought today you were leaving never to return, but now I know your here to stay... today has been wonderful." 

Sherlock realized they where standing close. He had been staring into John's eyes and realized they were dilated and he could feel his own heart beat increase with a flutter. He needed to rationalize, John's pupil dilation was do to the low lighting, his heart... he was tired. He reached around John more careful than usual of his personal space to open the door.

They opened the door to  **221B** to find a man sleeping on their couch. "Billy what are you doing here?" asked Sherlock

"How did he get in here?"

Billy getting up and looking around groggily "I saw the man, the one you told me ta' keep an eye ou' for."

"Where?" "Who?"asked Sherlock and John simultaneously

"I found him at his usual spot, playin' cards. Then I followed him, he went into the house across the street. I got in by usin' your landlady's spare. Had it hangin' just inside her door. He left again after awhile and I lost him near Regents Park. Thought I could come back here keep an eye ou' in case he came back, must 'ave dosed off"

"Sherlock, who is he talking about?"

"Sebastian Moran," he replied pointing to a grainy photo on wall of a blonde man. "Moriarty's right hand man."

"Why isn't he locked up?" asked John squinting at the photo.

"He has lots of connections, from a well to do family, even served in the Queen's Army, there was never enough evidence for even a warrant."

"You couldn't get a better photo?"

"Ah- nope."

"So what was he doing in the house across the street?" asked John moving towards the window.

Sherlock, who moved to stand behind him replied, "Watching, or finding the right angle. He is well practiced with a sniper rifle, perhaps we should step away from the window, wouldn't want to make ourselves easy targets."

John moved quickly back, bumping into Sherlock, "Best not, so you think he killed MacDonald then? Can't be to many of sharpshooters in London."

"You'd be surprised."

"Do you two mind if I sleep here tonigh', gesturing to the sofa, "join your slumber party?"

Sherlock paused a moment as if weighing his options, "Sure, fine."

"Well, I really should be home..." then looking at his watch with a grimace, "but I guess I might as well sleep upstairs."

Sherlock replied looking down to John, "Of course."

* * *

John awoke with a start, sunlight was streaming into his room, it had to be nearly noon. Downstairs the house was quiet. There was no usual, pacing or plucking at the violin. He thought Sherlock must be deep in thought or even resting. He opened his door quietly and padded down the stairs. Sherlock was sitting in at the table in the sitting room with stack of files before him, but he wasn't looking at them. He was gazing forward, lost in thought.

John put the kettle on and made some toast. He brought a cup of tea and slice over to Sherlock and said, "Here, you should eat."

Sherlock looked up as if woken from a daze. "Wha- ah, yes, thank you."

"Did you even try to sleep?"

"Yes, ah I did sleep. Then Mycroft dropped off-" gesturing to the files.

"Good," said John reaching for a file that had fallen on the floor, "learn anything?"

"NO John, you don't want to see," Sherlock said, as he seized the file from John's grasp. He then stood up and grabbed the other files on the desk and raised the documents above his head where John couldn't reach.

John didn't try to snatch them back, he knew what Sherlock would be trying to spare him, "That's Mary's file."

"Yes."

"Whatever she's done, I don't care. I love her."

"I know." said Sherlock looking away wistfully, masking the sadness that statement brought him. John was _too_ good, _too_ kind, _too_ brave. Mary was so lucky, he thought to have won John's loyalty and devotion in its fullest capacity, he knew now how little she deserved it. "I need to go to Barts."

"Okay, I'm gonna wash up quick, then let's go."

* * *

"Just as I thought."

"What?"

"It's counterfeit."

"How can you tell?"

"The print is off centered to the left by one tenth of a millimeter." Sherlock was sitting with his eyes behind a microscope, in the same spot when he and John first met. John sat next to him going eating crisps and looking over MacDonald's autopsy. "This though has to be the best reproduction I've ever seen." He said looking up, to glance at John. "And there is is ash on the the notes as well. These were printed in Belfast and were saved from the burning warehouse."

"The building that burnt down was hiding a counterfeiting operation?"

"Yes, and whoever is trying to rebuild Moriarty's old net work was using these." Sherlock said waving the money, "to finance it."

 "Wow, be sure to text Lestrade. MacDonald's autopsy was strait forward, nothing suspicious, if you don't need me, I should go, check on Mary."

"Fine," said Sherlock looking back into his microscope.

"Text me if there's any developments."

"Yes."

Sherlock watched John leave from the window, once he was out of sight he texted Mycroft,  _Keep John under surveillance._ _  
_

 _>  _ **New Message** _>  _  _So sentimental brother, but since you asked so nicely, I'll oblige._

* * *

Up on the roof another person watched John figure retreat and he thought to himself, he might as well make his way downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> If you noticed any mistakes in grammar, or spelling, point of view, plot holes (or anything at all really) give me a shout out and I will fix it :) I have already started on some other chapters, I just need to figure out where this story is going. Future chapters will hopefully be longer... so yep.
> 
> Quite a few of the deductions, new characters, and plot, I am basing off of Doyel's novel The Valley of Fear. Everything else is obviously inspired by the love of my life Sherlock on BBC.


End file.
